Confession
by EclecticRegard
Summary: After Wilson went on his way, House was left to deal with some unexplored feelings. The way he explores/deals with them leads to Wilson's return. What exactly did he do...?
1. Part I

_Holy shit. I know this is cheesy, but I'm in a very fluffy/cheesy mood tonight. So, you all get to enjoy (or completely ignore) a bit of my crappy writing as a result. There are spoilers for the beginning of Season 5, and the events take place after episode 87, **Dying Changes Everything**, but Wilson comes back the way I want him to. That's the beauty of fanfiction. The song is **What Hurts the Most**by Rascal Flatts. The title kinda came from **Confessions Part III** by Weird Al, because I couldn't think of one myself and was listening to the song while finishing writing it._

WARNING: _This contains slash, otherwise known as a male-male pairing. This also contains OOC-ness and some slight spoilers. For the love of god, if you don't read this warning and flame me for something that was mentioned in the warning (like "Ew, they're not gay!" or "House would never do something like that!") then I will hate you. HARD. It's my story, and I can incorporate whatever the hell I feel like. Thank you. :D_

DISCLAIMER: I do not own "House, M.D.", it's characters, or anything else pertaining to the show in any way. I only own this story and it's plot.

**Confession**

Days had passed since Wilson had walked away. House still couldn't believe it. The one true friend he'd managed to hang onto for all of these years was gone.

He wouldn't answer his cell phone or his - Amber's - door. Wilson was one hundred percent _gone_.

He felt a strange pang in his chest each day that he passed by Wilson's old office. He moved throughout the day, listless and mechanical. He solved his usual medical mysteries, but he noticably lacked the flare that he'd once had for his job, his one true passion. Or so he'd thought.

He stayed late in his office one night, scanning through random radio stations online. He came across a somewhat familiar sounding song on a Country station and decided to listen to it. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, anyways. (1)

The music was sad and slow, and House was sure that if he weren't a completely hard bastard he might have felt like crying a little.

_I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house_

_That don't bother me_

_I can take a few tears now and then and just let 'em out_

_I'm not afraid to cry every once and a while_

_Even though goin' on with you gone still upsets me_

_There are days every now and again I pretend I'm okay_

_But that's not what gets me_

House's face visibly changed from a bored expression to that of being a bit surprised but mostly solemn. Slowly, things were clearing up for him. And it made him laugh at himself that it took a song that some (most likely) straight country guy wrote to figure things out, especially since he'd always deemed himself as perceptive to anything and everything. (2)

_What hurts the most was being so close_

_And havin' so much to say_

_And watchin' you walk away_

_And never knowin' what could have been_

_And not seein' that lovin' you_

_Is what I was trying to do._

As the melancholy tune played on, House pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and began writing. He wasn't sure why he was writing a letter to Wilson, much less a love letter, but he figured he should screw all logic at least once in his life. What better time was there than the present?

The song was over a couple of minutes later and the radio station moved on to some commercials and more up-beat music. House didn't even realize. He was far too busy pouring out his heart and soul into the letter.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and House was sure that if he ever wanted to see Wilson again, even if to simply be rejected, then he had to do something completely unexpected and out of character.

Once he was finished, he sat back in his chair and read over his letter. He set it down with a heavy sigh, placing a hand over his eyes, "This is the gayest thing I've ever done or seen. He'd _better_ come back."

The following day, House swallowed what was left of his pride and mailed the letter. After that, he'd pushed the whole matter out of his mind, disbelieving that he'd been so stupid as to _mail_ that damned letter.

Another week went by, and House found himself in his office well after hours again. He adamantly stayed away from all Country stations, and forced himself to pay attention only to his Game Boy.

The door to his office opened, then was shut firmly behind who'd ever stepped in. The person wasted no time and quickly pulled the blinds closed and locked the doors.

Out of the corner of his eyes, House noticed someone standing on the other side of his desk, patiently waiting, "Sorry, after hours. Come back and bitch at me tomorrow."

A soft chuckle replied, followed by, "House, it's me."

His hands gripped the game system hard as his eyes widened slightly. He turned his head slowly and found that he'd not been playing a trick on himself. There stood Wilson, in the flesh, in his office.

"Wilson..."

A warm smile was flashed before the oncologist took a seat. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an all-too-familiar envelope. With a clearing of his throat, House turned to look away from the letter.

"I... I was startled, to say the least, when I got this letter."

"Mmhmm." House nodded, not knowing what else to do.

Wilson laughed a bit, "At first, I just put it off as something you'd done while you were drunk. But then I realized how... _poetic_ and carefully written it was. House, I... I'm not sure what to say."

"Say you'll come back." he replied, looking directly into Wilson's eyes.

The younger man frowned a bit, "It's... It's not that simple. Not yet, anyways."

"Why the hell not? I'm not asking you to marry me and adopt kids or anything. ... Right now, I can be content with you coming back to being the oncologist-next-door-who-happens-to-be-my-best-friend."

"How are you even sure that Cuddy would give me my job back?"

"Because she hasn't re-filled your position... because she's waiting for you to come back."

Brown eyes stared intensely at blue ones for several minutes. Finally, Wilson sighed, "It there _nothing_ you can't talk me into?"

"Nope. So, you'd better start getting used to the idea of being gay with me. 'Cause it's _going_ to happen, even if it takes me years of coercing." House stated nonchalantly.

Wilson smiled, "Fine, I can accept that. But you won't be getting any until I'm good and ready."

"Aw..."

-----

1) _Does House really listen to Country music? Hell if I know. I just needed him to be familiar with this song for the sake of the story._

2) _I'm not assuming that the man who sings for the band Rascal Flatts is gay or straight, 'cause I don't really care honestly. I just know that some die-hard country fan would read this and flame the hell outta me. That's just the way my luck works._

_It's shit, I know. D:_

_I enjoyed writing it, though. It's extremely cheesy, I think. Which is exactly what I was going for._

_I love feedback, people. A simple "omg i loved this" will suffice (if you're not a very wordy person), as will constructive criticism. Seriously, if I don't know what others think then how will I ever improve?_

_p.s. Will you people_ please _go to my profile page and vote about the HouseWilson smut!fic I'm thinking of doing? Seriously. I will love you forever._


	2. Part II

_Um. I was listening to show tunes when I got the inspiration to write more for this. ... Don't. Ask. Weird music gives me the creative energy I require. Also... I apparently feel a need to write more when people ask if I'm going to. I aim to please (so long as I like what I'm writing)! ... Some spoilers for the end of Season 4 and in the _NOTE_._

**Replies for:**

hughville -_I'm so glad you liked it. I honestly thought it was terrible... I did write it about 2 a.m. I went back to re-read it and realized that it actually doesn't suck big fat ass. Thank you so much! ... I guess they weren't as OOC as I thought. :D_

jaime - _Thank you! Glad you enjoyed._

Kyrie - _... Holy shit, I evoked a squeal from you? ... That makes me feel awesome. :3_

NOTE: _I don't incorporate House's new team in my stories. Why? Because I hate them. They're not as fun as his original three. Thirteen's just a lame bisexual who's dying and nobody cares, Taub is just a white, midget version of Foreman (who FAILS because he doesn't have crazy eyes like Foreman), and Kutner's unbearably fucking retarded, which I was okay with until they abruptly made him kill himself. Seriously, what the hell? D: ... I know Kal Penn went to work for the president, but they could've done something cooler with him then that anti-climactic shit. I really love Crazy-Eyed-Generic-Black-Doctor Man, Stupid-As-Fuck-Australian Mate, and Crazy-Ass-Closeted-Sex-Addict Bitch. _

**Confession**

Part II

Admittedly, the first few days after Wilson's return were awkward. There were a couple of instances where one of the two men went to make a joke that would've normally meant nothing, then stopped dead in their tracks. Those moments were always followed by stressful silences.

Slowly, those moments came fewer and farther apart until about a month later they were gone all together. The two had even gotten a bit into the dating scene, though it didn't feel much different than the meals they'd eaten out or in together previously. All that really changed was now there were slight brushings of hands against the other's, staring at each other for too long in complete and comfortable silence, or a subtle bumping of legs beneath the table that usually led to lingering to rub against each other before pulling away and going on as though nothing had happened.

Eventually, they graduated to small pecks on the cheek and holding hands behind closed doors, mainly at House's apartment while watching the television together. They would never discuss moving up to doing more lover-type things; they'd just start doing it and grow comfortable with it.

House noticed that Wilson was still a bit withdrawn and less enthusiastic to do more than cheek-kissing and hand-holding. He'd wondered about it before, but his thoughts were finally confirmed when he pushed Wilson gently onto his back on the couch and settled on top of him, kissing his neck. The slighter man moaned a bit until he felt the diagnostician's hand creeping up his shirt. Firm hands were placed on House's shoulders, pushing him back so they could look each other in the eye. No words were needed. He could see the look in Wilson's eye, the look that told him that he was still mourning Amber. God, she was good. Even from the grave she still managed to make his life more troublesome.

But he knew that it would take the younger man some time to get over her and her death, so he didn't voiced his irritations. Instead, he refrained from pushing to do more and forced himself to be content with what he was already allowed to do.

Unfortunately, his growing sexual frustration began accompanying him to work.

He was in his office discussing a patient with his team when a simple mentioning of the patient's past sexual encounters came up in exploration of STD's. The constant saying of "sex" or anything pertaining to it, really, was enough to have him wishing that he hadn't been abstinent for so long. He'd stopped having prostitutes over after Wilson left, so he hadn't had sex in roughly two months. He never thought things could get this bad.

There he was, thankfully sitting behind his desk, getting unbelievably horny like some teenager with raging hormones. This was bullshit, and he couldn't keep quiet any longer.

After growling at his team to leave and shut the blinds behind them, he got himself off and cleaned up in record time before heading over to Wilson's office. Like always, he didn't bother knocking and merely barged in.

The oncologist looked up from his paper work and smiled warmly, "Hey, House."

"Wilson." The older man barely cast a glance at him as he hurriedly shut the door behind him.

Wilson leaned back in his chair, eyeing his friend curiously, "Something wrong?"

"Actually, yeah." He took a seat across from the younger man and stared at him with intense piercing blue eyes, "I just got hot while discussing a patient's potential for contracting STD's."

"That... sounds like something you should keep to yourself." he chuckled light-heartedly.

"I'm not done yet." His tone had Wilson stop mid-chuckle and blink at him, nodding silently for him to continue, "I can't stand not being more... physical with you."

"...Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'."

"Well... um..." Wilson stammered, face flushing slightly.

"I'm not necessarily saying I wanna throw you down and fuck you senseless right now, though that _does_ sound like fun."

Wilson merely ignored the last bit of House's statement, "So, you just need some release?"

"Yeah."

"How much more alone time do you think you have before your team comes looking for you?"

"About... twenty minutes."

"Well, that provides enough time for a rather hot make-out session, don't you think?" Wilson asked, smiling innocently.

"I swear Wilson, if you're jerking me around I'll put you in a coma, harvest your organs and sell them on the black market."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. You wouldn't be able to, anyways." Wilson stood and walked around the desk to him.

House looked up at him, eyes already partially glazed over, "Oh?"

"Nope. You'd have to be able to catch me first." he smiled sweetly, leaning down slightly.

House grabbed his tie and yanked him down so they were mere inches apart, "I'd find a way."

"I'm sure you would." Wilson muttered before closing the distance between their lips.

Both men had forgotten just how sweet-tasting a first kiss could be.

-----

_That was so _**gay**_. Absolutely and utterly _**gay**_. ...I love it. :3_

_Hm... not much to say. I thought about making this another story instead of an extra chapter, but figured not._

_This is the _**END**_of this story. My next stop for this fandom is a HouseWilson smut!fic... if you'd all _**vote**_, dammit. 8D_

_Thanks for reading and review if you like, as they make my day_.


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